


guilty

by venusinlatin



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Baz pov, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Night Terrors, Pre-Canon, Watford Fifth Year, beta’ed by my friend who had no idea what she was reading but liked it, marina and the diamonds lyrics, the author wrote this at one am, the author’s take on pre-canon events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 06:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19203391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venusinlatin/pseuds/venusinlatin
Summary: Baz has a nightmare in which he 1) may have killed a student, 2) relives the Watford vampire attack, 3) gets killed by his mother, 4) definitely kills a student, and 5) realizes that he is hopelessly in love with Simon Snow. Inspired by “Guilty” by Marina and The Diamonds.





	guilty

**Author's Note:**

> This fic includes lyrics from “Guilty” by Marina and The Diamonds, as well as quotes from Carry On by Rainbow Rowell. I own the rights to neither. 
> 
> Warning: Baz wants to die, and there’s some canon-typical violence.

By the time I get back to our room, my infernal roommate has already been asleep for a while. He’s tossing and turning, and his poor sheet is barely hanging on to his mattress. I can hear his deep breathing from across the room. I watch as his chest rises and falls in the darkness. A breeze ruffles my hair, and I notice that the wanker has the window open. When does he not? Although it’s not a new development, I still direct some choice gestures at his silhouette. I’ll have to think of some better precautionary threats tomorrow. 

Feeding took me almost twice as long tonight because Snow decided to take it upon himself to stalk me. He thinks he’s being sneaky. It amuses me that while he managed to piece together my vampirism, he hasn’t yet figured out that I have enhanced hearing. It’s bloody difficult concentrating with it, especially when you share a room with a mouth-breather. 

I nearly trip on a bag of crisps and a textbook while walking to the bathroom. (Note to self: berate Snow in the morning.) After changing into a pair of pyjamas, I allow myself a look in the mirror. The blood I consumed has already turned my pale complexion slightly pink. Sneering at my reflection, I cut the lights off and make my way to my (impeccably made) bed. 

Snow is in a completely different position than when I entered the room. He has finally succeeded in something, though: his sheet, while it put up a good fight, has joined the countless other objects on the floor. Who knew that an orphan with practically no belongings could make such a mess? I slide under the covers and watch his back until my eyelids close.

—

“I was dreaming something dark, hiding body parts”

I’m in the catacombs. Wasn’t I just here? There’s a weight in my arms. I look down to see a body with its face obscured. I know that I recognize it, but it’s like it’s been censored. I feel full. Too full. There’s a pair of bite marks on the neck bent over my elbow. The body feels too light. I want to drop it and get help, but my muscles are locked in place. I barely register the movement in front of me. 

“Oh I’m a guilty one, and know what I have done”

Snow is standing a few feet away, sword in hand, gaping at me. I want to tell him that I didn’t do this, whatever it looks like, but I know that I did. I’m a monster. I’m whatever he thinks I am. He rushes forward, and I close my eyes before the blade can hit me. I’m drowning in unremarkable blue, the color of his eyes. The death I secretly crave never comes. 

“I was just a kid that you could not forgive because it's harder”

My eyelids open on their own accord. I’m in a nursery. The Watford nursery. My five year old self is screaming, but no sound comes out. A mouth of fangs dripping with my blood draws back from my neck. I watch as my mother pulls her hand away from matching marks on her own neck. Rage fills her eyes. Her mouth caresses the air as she cries out a spell. The memory is fuzzy, like I’m watching through a veil of some sort. The moment my mother kills herself and her assailant, the veil lifts. 

Suddenly, I’m back in my present-day body, and I can hear again. I watch in horror as the ashes and bones on the floor form a person. My mother materializes with her hand around my throat. The words coming out of her mouth are gibberish, but I know what she’s saying. She can’t be at peace until I’m dead, along with every other member of my kind. I search her eyes for anything other than hatred, but find nothing. I stop struggling. I hear my trachea collapse, and feel my body crumple to the ground. 

“I was just a kid and all I really wanted was my father”

I smell smoke. I need to get out of here before he goes off. I push my fingers down, expecting fabric and springs, but I end up cracking my knuckles against a hardwood floor. This isn’t our room. Snow isn’t here. I’m sitting in front of a fireplace in my family’s library. Funnily enough, it’s snowing outside. My bones ache. All I want to do is lean forward until I touch the jumping flames. 

A hand grasps my shoulder. The fireplace is gone. I don’t think there ever was a fireplace in this particular library. Didn’t Mordelia and I count them one Christmas? Why can’t I remember her face? Fiona comes into focus, attached to the gripping hand. Her eyes are red, like she’s been crying. A stuffed bear passes from her arms to mine. She lingers for a moment, then disappears from my peripheral vision. I turn to see her angrily shaking her hands at my father in the doorway. His face is blank, and he walks right past her. For a split second, I think he’s coming to see me. I’m wrong. Of course I am. He looks right through me, takes a book, and leaves. 

“Then suddenly it all becomes clear, I've been sorry all these years”

The air around me goes cold. Books and papers bend and twist into stone walls and dirt beneath my feet. I try to tighten my grip on Paddington, but fur and stuffing have morphed into bones and skin. The body in my arms is back. I look up, expecting Snow to rush through the stone entryway at any moment, but he doesn’t come. A whisper. I gasp in horror. The body belongs to him. Curly bronze hair, dull eyes, mole-covered skin. Is this how it ends? I had always assumed that I would lose the war, Snow standing over me with his sword staked through my undead heart. I should feel happy. Victorious at the least. But all I feel is loss. He whispers again, this time my name.

“Simon,” I whisper back. I should be disgusted by the weakness in my voice. I’m not. All I can see is blue, blue, blue. My knees sink to the floor, and he’s laying across my lap. I try to find a pulse, but his body is merely a husk. No blood is circulating. It’s all in my stomach. I start saying things to the corpse in my lap, secrets that I haven’t even told myself yet. I gently set him down on the ground and curl up next to him, my body shaking with nausea and tears. 

—

My eyes are wet, and Snow’s body is farther away than it was before. I sit up, gasping for breath, and realize that I’m back in our room. panting, I stare at my lap, trying to convince myself that my sheets are clean and free of Snow’s blood. My hand clutches at my chest. I feel my heartbeat slowly returning to normal.

The sound of movement almost makes me jump out of my skin. “Baz? Are you alright?” Snow asks groggily, sitting up as well. We make eye contact. His eyebrows wrinkle in concern when he notices my condition. 

“Go back to sleep, Snow.” The hostility in my voice surprises both of us, considering that I’ve just woken, but only he shows it. I flop back down on the bed, facing away from him this time. I hear him huff and do the same.

More tears are threatening to spill out of my eyes. My mind can only process two things. 

I called him Simon. 

And I’m hopelessly in love with him.


End file.
